


Patrick, Darling

by ArcticLava21



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Angst, Grief, Loss, Lost son, Patrick's Mom - Freeform, i hope she finds him, patrick - Freeform, wow this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLava21/pseuds/ArcticLava21
Summary: She had looked for him for days, weeks, months- and soon those months bled into years. Years passed and she still celebrated his birthday. Years passed and she wouldn't allow herself to give up hope. Years passed and the police apologized to a crying mother, telling her yet again that they hadn't found anything.But, on what would've been his eighteenth birthday, a part of her did. And it crushed her.





	Patrick, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> This is for everyone wondering who Patrick is in Newsies.

She sits against her bed, sobbing and clutching a picture taken from its place on the floral wall printed wall to her chest.

Her baby. Gone.

She looks at his beautiful face again, with hiccuping sobs like a child. It's a picture of their family. It's her, her late husband, and Patrick. They look so happy- so many miles away, a completely different family than what she had now. Patrick is only a baby, and his eyes shone brightly into the camera, and he's smiling for once. She wants him to be happy. She loves him so much. She would do anything for him. Tears blur her vision, and she hastily wipes them away with her handkerchief to no avail. They keep coming, endlessly flowing and torturing her with the memory of what she's lost. She wails loudly, not even caring that she lives in an apartment where other people can hear her. She makes no attempt to muffle her screams. Her vision is like a tunnel, and there is no past- no future- nothing. Only her sweet child who she has lost. She looks at the crumpled ball of fabric in her shaking hand. The hot tears drench her handkerchief, and she flings it across the room in anger at God. The heavy tears sting as she chokes on them. She sobs loudly again. Her pain is known. People pity her.

She collapses and crumples into the floor, setting the picture frame aside, and clings the pillow that had fallen off the bed. She was too heartbroken to pick it back up. She reaches out to it and holds it tight, allowing herself to imagine it's her little boy. She burys her face into it. What had she done that caused her little boy to leave? _God just let him be alive. I'll do anything please._

She felt like she was drowning, the air too heavy to swallow. she doesn't want to suck in the air keep herself alive. She didn't want to.

 _Three year old Patrick clutches her gloved hand tightly, and they laughed. “Moo!” He says as they walk down the sidewalk to the long awaited park. She had promised him to go to the park for weeks now, but life had always found a way to put the endeavor on halt. “That's right, my dear. A cow makes that noise.” Patrick had never seen a cow. He lived in the city. But he desperately wanted to. The city is alive with commotion as always, and she hoists him onto her hip when he says that he is tired. A gust of Wind sends her dress flying backwards, and she pushes it back into place. She continues walking. Even though a little Wind isn't much of a setback, nothing would deter her in getting Patrick to the park. A man leans against a light post, smoking his cigar, Drawing a long breath and puffing out smoke. Patrick holds his breath obviously, puffing out his cheeks and holding his nose, and a part of her is proud of him. She had always told him that smoking was bad. But the other half of her was embarrassed, and her cheeks are glowing red when she notices the man glare at her, and she scurried past him. She continues walking, watching a squirrel run in front of her. “Moo?” Says Patrick questioningly, pointing his finger at it with a laugh. She chuckles. “No, my sweet. That is a squirrel.”_  
“What noise do squirrels make?” _She considers this for a moment. “I… I don't really know.”_  
 _“Well, i'm going to imagine they say ‘moo’.”  
She laughs again and presses a kiss to his forehead._

Then, one day, he left her. Ran away. 

She had looked for him for days, weeks, months- and soon those months bled into years. Years passed and she still celebrated his birthday. Years passed and she wouldn't allow herself to give up hope. Years passed and the police apologized to a crying mother, telling her yet again that they hadn't found anything.  
But, on what would've been his eighteenth birthday, a part of her did. And it crushed her.

“Patrick, darling.” She says to herself, wiping her auburn hair that stuck to her face aside. “Mother… mother loves you…” she can barely say the last words.

She feels broken.

“God!” She yells it this time. “Save my son!” She had tried to live once it became known that hope was lost, and she had done a damn good job pretending. But now? She couldn't. And the little pieces holding herself together finally broke.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
